


Excommunication

by Ilweran



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Hallucinations, Hopeful Ending, Post-Canon, Psychological Torture, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-02
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 15:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2393702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilweran/pseuds/Ilweran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no escape from Aeonar - or so they say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excommunication

It's hard to think when shadows shift and whisper at the corner of her eye and a hand slithers down her throat and claws at her heart, so most of the time she doesn't bother to try but instead lies still on the cold floor (is it really cold or does the dreams tell her it is? Is the floor there at all?) and breathes; every now and then she tries to hold her breath long enough to escape, but as soon as she passes out her treacherous lungs fill with air. Once she stopped eating, but when hunger turned into dull ache and she could feel death close in with its cold fingers on her sallow skin, fear overcame despair. She wants to die, but she can't bear the thought of waisting away slowly and painfully. (Some Mothers say that people who take their own life will roam the Fade forever, but how can the Maker bring such cruel judgment over those poor souls if He has left the world?)

Here dreams and reality interwine until you can't tell where one start and other begins. Sometimes she's surrounded by screams and blood and fire; sometimes she drifts somewhere warm and safe while a woman with her mother's smile kisses her forehead. A dark-eyed man runs his fingers through her hair; a mirror image of herself recounts every injustice she has ever faced; a demon clad in gold promises her everything and more. She always turns away from the last one, for she has learnt the cost of desire. After she almost gives in one night or day (" _I will fill his nights with terrors, dear one_ "; a vow almost sealed with a clash of lips and tongue), she lets go of her desire for death and freedom. Regret, however, refuses to leave. When she is lucid enough, she wonders if it is the only thing that keeps her alive, that reminds her that she is yet to become one with the shadows and whispers.

* * *

Words, but different from the usual – outside her head, not inside.

"Justice," "possible," conscription."

It's so hard to listen with ears instead of thoughts; the Fade tugs at the edge of her consciousness, beckons her to return.

"No."

" _Yes_."

Light pierces her eyes and makes tears run down her cheeks. She tries to speak, to ask if they'll finally execute her, if's she's served her time, if they've caught the man who did this to her, but she has forgotten the words of the waking world.

A woman kneels in front of her. Familiar face. She has seen her before, but did it happen in the Fade or in the world of mortals? Ears. Staff. An elven girl, a mage girl. _The_ mage girl, the one – the one who – _his_ friend, one of the two people whose names the dreams mercifully took from her.

"Hello, Lily," the mage whispers, fingers rough and cool and unbearably real against her cheek. "Let's get out of here."

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write about my interpretation of Aeonar without crossing the line into pointless grimdark or torture porn, neither of which I can stand, but I'm on the fence about whether I succeeded or not. Please let me know what you think!


End file.
